Fatter Ikke Hva Jeg Gjør Galt
by Lukas Bondevik
Summary: "I don't get what I do wrong". A little song fic starring Norway and a singing Denmark, taking place during one of the nations' many meetings.  Norwegian lyrics with translation
1. Chapter 1

**Song:** Fatter ikke hva jeg gjør galt.

**Band:** Postgirobygget. (Link: www . youtube . com / watch?v=LriaJuo1HGM)

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><p>"Hey, Iceland, have you seen N-" Denmark crashed face first with the floor.<p>

It was the third day of the meetings –well, fourth if you counted the welcoming stuff-, Denmark had been up early, eaten his breakfast and headed for the conference room feeling great, only to stumble in the doorway.

Netherlands looked at him amused with lifted brows. "You okay?" Belgium next to him, asked.

Denmark's head popped up, his nose a little dirty, and he opened his mouth to answer- "Ledig gange, er roten til mye vondt," Norway, easily stepping across Denmark's legs with his face down in a book, said.

"Jeg går så anspent som jeg kan!" Denmark exclaimed after him, trying to explain, scurrying to his feet. Sadly, by the time he was up Norway was already at his assigned seat, engaged in dialogue with Iceland.

"Har nå to bein," Denmark frowned, looking down at his legs -bending and turning them a little just for the sake of it- with a sort of helpless look, "men ingen å gå med." He sighed.

"Så er det Norge," and he looked back toward the smaller, Nordic nation, "jeg kan ikke forstå det," he scratched his head confusedly, glancing about the room. And though he didn't see them, Finland and Sweden did see him. And, being the kind nation he was, Finland felt entitled to approach him. Besides, he was a little curious too.

"What is it about Norway, Denmark?" Finland gently touched his arm, making the larger nation spin around. Upon discovering who it was, Denmark grinned.

"Han er så fin-» he pointed with his thumb to Norway «-jeg vil gå bort, men kommer aldri fram.»

Sweden, -who would have prefered _not_ to approach Denmark- looked from the nation in question to Norway. Though disregarding the whole thing about Norway, he instead asked: "Why'r you talk'n' Norweg'n?"

A brief halt was put to Denmark's Norwegian ramblings as he frowned a little. "Well, Norway began, and so I just automatically –but that's beside the point!" Like mentioned; merely a _brief_ halt.

"Skulle vært jeg som tok intiativet og fikk ham til å le," Denmark pointed accusingly toward Iceland and Norway, making Finland mumbled with an overbearing smile at Denmark's behaviour: "He is not really laughing right now, though."

"Skulle vært meg han holdt rundt livet, og var den han ville prate med," Denmark complained, clinging onto Sweden's suit, only to let go at the glare he received.

"Det var alt," Denmark's hands fell down his sides, and he shrugged silently. "Kort fortalt; jeg fatter ikke hva jeg gjør galt," he looked at Finland, a strange shadow falling across his eyes. For a moment Finland was put off a little by the honest look in the normally so carefree nation. When staring at him, into those light blue eyes, he thought he could see a tinge of heartbreak far back in the old nations eyes.

-But then Denmark was assaulting Sweden's suit jacket again, continuing in a whining voice: "Jeg fatter ikke hva jeg gjør galt, Sverige!" Sweden, in turn, looked about ready to kill the annoying blonde, and the feeling was gone. Finland shook his head to himself.

"Den som venter forgjeves, venter på noe godt," Denmark had let go, and was now wandering into the middle of the room. By now he had also caught most of the nations present's attention, the room falling more and more silent as more nations noticed him. "Se hva jeg har fått;" he flung his arms out, "noe ufortalt."

Though they _had_ gotten quite used to the whole burst-into-talking-singing-lyrics-randomly by now, what they were _not_ used to was a nation singing in something else than English. Now _that_ made quite a few of them glance hesitatingly and questioningly at each other. Regardless, it was quite entertaining, and they had at least gathered by now that it had _something _to do with Norway, so... Besides, he also seemed to be quite passionate about whatever he was saying, so no one really felt like stopping him.

"Hva har jeg å gå på?" Denmark looked longingly at Norway. "Hva har jeg å gå til?" and stupidly optimistic he skipped across the floor toward said nation. Once there he climbed across the table, ruffling up the pages in the smaller's book in the process, and with a grin locked his arms around the much smaller nation.

"Ingenting som frister," Denmark was punched away, by air seemingly, as Norway had not lifted a finger. -Though by his own table, England jerked in a mix of awe and fright.

"Hva gjør jeg galt?" Denmark crawled back to Sweden. Sweden however, only stared at him with his stoic eyes, most likely meaning to say: _An__'__ you__'__r r__'__lly ask__'__n__'__? _

"Skulle vært jeg som tok intiativet, og fikk ham til å le," Denmark got up on his feet, jamming his hands in his pockets with a pout. "Skulle vært meg han holdt rundt livet, og var den han ville prate med," but not lasting long, the pout was transformed into a lopsided grin and a sigh.

"Det var alt," Denmark lifted his hands as if to show there was nothing more. "Kort fortalt; jeg fatter ikke hva jeg gjør galt."

A few seats away, Japan was securely positioned with free sight to the love-sick Scandinavian nation, camera placed steadily on the table for a stable picture. He didn't find the language to be of any hindrance whatsoever; it would take him ten seconds –tops fifteen- to find someone to subtitle this once he was back home.

"Skulle vært jeg som tok intiativet, og fikk ham til å le," Denmark sighed, pointing toward Norway. "Skulle vært meg han holdt rundt livet, og var den han ville prate med."

Finland looked up at Sweden, smiling a little. After all, it was quite sweet –even if the other nation could be a little obnoxious and all-over the place, and probably very annoying from Norway's point of view. Still, his feelings were honest. Finland suddenly felt very happy he had taken a summer off some fifty years ago to learn the Scandinavian languages (well, now adays the humans also regarded him and Iceland as a part of Scandinavia, but still, the other three were the original ones).

"Det var alt, kort fortalt; jeg fatter ikke hva jeg gjør galt," Denmark's shoulders seemed to slope down a little as he repeated it. Behind him, France smiled at England.

"It makes you feel a little sorry for him, non?" and looking back at Denmark he sighed, "ah, amore." England however, only snorted.

"Like you understand what he is singing."

"Kort fortalt, jeg fatter ikke hva jeg gjør galt," now it was clear Denmark's shoulder were hitching downwards.

"Perhaps not, but the longing in his voice is evidence enough. The feelings of love don't always need a language to be understood. Dear Angleterre, you should open up for love some more," France nudged him a little, making England battle a slight, bitter blush in thought of recent events.

"Kort fortalt, jeg fatter ikke hva jeg gjør galt." Denmark's eyes were cast downward.

For a second Italy, being the kind and romantic country he was, wanted to run over and give the bigger male a hug. He didn't know there were several with him who at that point wanted to do the exact same thing.

"Jeg fatter ikke hva jeg gjør galt, Sverige!" Apparently he wasn't in a need of a hug after all.

"Jeg fatter ikke hva gjør galt, Finland!" Denmark grabbed Finland by the hand, who in turn jumped, slightly startled.

"Jeg fatter ikke hva jeg gjør galt, Amerika!" in a flash Denmark was several feet to the right, almost literally singing _in_ America's face. –Though being quite the energetic country himself, he didn't really look all that bothered with it.

"Jeg fatter ikke hva gjør galt, England!" England however, did look bothered with it.

"Jeg fatter ikke hva gjør galt, Nederland!" Denmark gripped onto the lower hem of his neighbour's shirt –ripping it out of it neatly-tucked-into-trousers-state – as he tripped when sprinting from one end of the room to the other.

"Jeg fatter ikke hva gjør galt-" Denmark was one second with Spain, and the other he was all over Romano. Though playing it happy all the way, a more and more desperate undertone had started to seep through his voice. Spinning around he grabbed for the next.

"Jeg fatter ikke hva hva gjør galt-" he stopped abruptly. Breathing heavily, he stared at the nation whose hand he had between his "Norge."

It was dead silent in the room. Japan used his secret ninja techniques to move without a sound so that he had a free shot again. He zoomed in until he only had the two Nordics showing on the screen. He followed them closely, holding his breath, as Norway sighed and put down his book.

Norway rose, standing face to face with Denmark, the table separating them and his one hand and both of Denmark's hanging across it like an unstable bridge. Then Norway slowly extended his other hand, and if possible, the room fell even quieter. His hand lifted, every eye in the room on it, and most intense of them all was Denmark's. Norway paused for a second, then he sighed, lifted the hand above his own head and-

"Ouch!" Denmark flinched, and it was like the room was as pulled out of a trance. Denmark pouted reproachfully at him. "What was that for?" he wanted to retract one of his hands to rub the sore spot where Norway had whacked him with the "pointy" end of his palm. However, he couldn't, for the smaller nation's one hand was firmly holding onto them.

"Tulling," Norway murmured. His other hand, still resting atop Denmark's head, fisted a handful of his hair and the smaller nation yanked the larger downwards, and- _oh._

The entire room stared. Stared as the smaller, Nordic nation kissed Denmark, -and quite passionately at that. He did not seem to have any qualms about taking his sweet time about it either, and Japan felt like he could die happy now –and he was undoubtedly _not_ the only one, if Denmark's wide open eyed were anything to judge by.

Then Norway let go, flopped back down in his seat, picked up his book again, and continued reading like nothing had happened.

(Though, for those who looked very closely, it would be possible to detect a small, satisfied blush creeping across his cheeks right beneath his eyes. And Iceland was looking just that closely, but also appeared to be the one least surprised in the entire room.)

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><p><strong>AN: Hi and hello~ And thanks for reading. <strong>**:D This is actually the forth chapter of "song fic"-thing I made a while back and posted on my other account. But then I decided to post this chapter here as well, seeing as this is sort of my Norway account and everything I write that has with Norway to do is supposed to be here. So yeah. **

**(The rest of the fic is here, if you'd be interested in reading it: www . fanfiction . net /s/6906634/1/The_Conference_Musical** **)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Song:** Fatter ikke hva jeg gjør galt. | Don't get(understand) what I do wrong. |

**Band:** Postgirobygget.

Here's a translation! Hope you enjoy :3

Everything that is translated from Norwegian to English, I will leave in| | . Just so that you can see the difference of what is "actually" spoken in English, and what is "actually" spoken in Norwegian. ;p

Also, if there are some sentences that seem completely out of whack, then that's because I found translating song lyrics a lot harder than I first thought it would be. . Aaand if you happen to speak Norwegian and have hear this song before, and don't agree with how I've translated, please point it out to me. ;D

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><p>"Hey, Iceland, have you seen N-" Denmark crashed face first with the floor.<p>

It was the third day of meetings –well, fourth if you counted the welcoming stuff-, Denmark had been up early, eaten his breakfast, heading for the conference room feeling great, only to stumble in the doorway.

Netherlands looked at him amused with lifted brows. "You okay?" Belgium next to him, asked.

Denmark's head popped up, his nose a little dirty, and he opened his mouth to answer- |An idle walk is the source of much harm,| Norway, easily stepping across Denmark's legs with his face down in a book, said.

|I walk as tensely as I can!| Denmark exclaimed after him, trying to explain, scurrying to his feet. Sadly, by the time he was up Norway was already at his assigned seat, engaged in dialogue with Iceland.

|Have got two legs,| Denmark frowned, looking down at his legs -bending and turning them a little just for the sake of it- with a sort of helpless look, |but no one to walk with.| He sighed.

|And then there's Norway,| and he looked back toward the smaller, Nordic nation, |I can't understand it,| he scratched his head confusedly, glancing about the room. And though he didn't see them, Finland and Sweden did see him. And, being the kind nation he was, Finland felt entitled to approach him. Besides, he was a little curious too.

"What is it about Norway, Denmark?" Finland gently touched his arm, making the larger nation spin around. Upon discovering who it was, Denmark grinned.

|He is so nice-| he pointed with his thumb to Norway |- I want to go over, but I never catch up.|

Sweden, -who would have preferred _not _to approach Denmark- looked from the nation in question to Norway. Though disregarding the whole thing about Norway, he instead asked: "Why'r' y' talk'n' Norweg'n?"

A brief halt was put to Denmark's Norwegian ramblings as he frowned a little. "Well, Norway began, and so I just automatically –but that's beside the point!" Like mentioned; merely a _brief_ halt.

|Should've been me who took the initiative and made him laugh,| Denmark pointed accusingly toward Iceland and Norway, making Finland mumbled with an overbearing smile at Denmark's behaviour: "He is not really laughing right now, though."

|Should've been me he held round the waist, and was the one he wanted to talk to,| Denmark complained, clinging onto Sweden's suit, only to let go at the glare he received.

|That's all,| Denmark's hands fell down his sides, and he shrugged silently. |In short; I don't understand what I do wrong.| He looked at Finland, a strange shadow falling across his eyes. For a moment Finland was put off a little by the honest look in the normally so carefree nation. When staring at him, into those light blue eyes, he thought he could see a tinge of heartbreak far behind in the old nations eyes.

-But then Denmark was assaulting Sweden's suit jacket again, continuing in a whining voice: |I don't understand what I do wrong, Sweden!| Sweden in turn looked about ready to kill the annoying blonde, and the feeling was gone. Finland shook his head to himself.

|The one who waits in vain, waits for something good.| Denmark had let go, and was now wandering into the middle of the room. By now he had also caught most of the nations present's attention, the room falling more and more silent as more nations noticed him. |Look what I've got;| he flung his arms out. |Something untold.|

Though they _had_ gotten quite used to the whole burst-into-talking-singing-lyrics-randomly by now, what they were _not_ used to was a nation singing in something else than English. Now _that_ made quite a few of them glance hesitatingly and questioningly at each other. Regardless, it was quite entertaining, and they had at least gathered by now that it had _something _to do with Norway, so... Besides, he also seemed to be quite passionate about whatever he was saying, so no one really felt like stopping him.

|What have I got to go on?| Denmark looked longingly at Norway. |What have I got to go to?| And stupidly optimistic he skipped across the floor toward said nation. Once there he climbed across the table, ruffling up the pages in the smaller's book in the process, and with a grin locked his arms around the much smaller nation.

|Nothing that temps,| Denmark was punched away, by air seemingly, as Norway had not lifted a finger. -Though by his own table, England jerked in a mix of awe and fright.

|What am I doing wrong?| Denmark crawled back to Sweden. Sweden however, only stared at him with his stoic eyes, most likely meaning to say: _'n you'r r'lly ask'n'?_

|Should've been me who took the initiative, and made him laugh,| Denmark got up on his feet, jamming his hands in his pockets with a pout. |Should've been me he held round the waist, and was the one he wanted to talk to,| but not lasting long, the pout was transformed into a lopsided grin and a sigh.

|That's all,| Denmark lifted his hands as if to show there was nothing more. |In short; I don't understand what I do wrong.|

A few seats away, Japan was securely positioned with free sight to the love-sick Scandinavian nation, camera placed steadily on the table for a stable picture. He didn't find the language to be of any hindrance whatsoever; it would take him ten seconds –tops fifteen- to find someone to subtitle this once he was back home.

|Should've been me who took the initiative and made him laugh,| Denmark sighed, pointing toward Norway. |Should've been me he held round the waist, and was the one he wanted to talk to.|

Finland looked up at Sweden, smiling a little. After all, it was quite sweet –even if the other nation could be a little obnoxious and all-over the place, and probably very annoying from Norway's point of view. Still, his feelings were honest. Finland suddenly felt very happy he had taken a summer off some fifty years back to learn the Scandinavian languages (well, now adays the humans also regarded him and Iceland as a part of Scandinavia, but still, the other three were the original ones).

|That's all, in short; I don't understand what I do wrong,| Denmark's shoulders seemed to slope down a little as he repeated it. Behind him, France smiled at England.

"It makes you feel a little sorry for him, non?" and looking back at Denmark he sighed, "ah, amore." England however, only snorted.

"Like you understand what he is singing."

|In short, I don't understand what I do wrong,| now it was clear Denmark's shoulder were hitching downwards.

"Perhaps not, but the longing in his voice is evidence enough. The feelings of love don't always need a language to be understood. Dear Angleterre, you should open up for love some more," France nudged him a little, making England battle a slight, bitter blush in thought of recent events.

|In short, I don't understand what I do wrong,| Denmark's eyes were cast downward.

For a second Italy, being the kind and romantic country he was, wanted to run over and give the bigger male a hug. He didn't know there were several with him who at that point wanted to do exactly the same.

|I don't understand what I do wrong, Sweden!| Apparently he wasn't in a need of a hug after all.

|I don't understand what I do wrong, Finland!| Denmark grabbed Finland by the hand, who in turn jumped, slightly startled.

|I don't understand what I do wrong, America!| in a flash Denmark was several feet to the right, almost literally singing _in_ America's face. –Though being quite the energetic country himself, he didn't really look all that bothered with it.

|I don't understand what I do wrong, England!| England however, did look bothered with it.

|I don't understand what I do wrong, Netherlands!| Denmark gripped onto the lower hem of his neighbour's shirt –ripping it out of it neatly-tucked-into-trousers-state – as he tripped when sprinting from one end of the room to the other.

|I don't understand what I do wrong-| Denmark was one second with Spain, and the other he was all over Romano. Though playing it happy all the way, a more and more desperate undertone had started to seep through his voice. Spinning around he grabbed for the next.

|I don't understand what I do wrong-| he stopped abruptly. Breathing heavily, he stared at the nation whose hand he had between his |Norway.|

It was dead silent in the room. Japan used his secret ninja techniques to move without a sound so that he had a free shot again. He zoomed in until he only had the two Nordics showing on the screen. He followed closely, holding his breath, as Norway sighed and put down his book.

Norway rose, standing face to face with Denmark, the table separating them and his one hand and both of Denmark's hanging across it like an unstable bridge. Then Norway slowly extended his other hand, and if possible, the room fell even quieter. His hand lifted, every eye in the room on it, and most intense of them all was Denmark's. Norway paused for a second, then he sighed, lifted the hand above his own head and-

"Ouch!" Denmark flinched, and it was like the room was as pulled out of a trance. Denmark pouted reproachfully at him. "What was that for?" he wanted to retract one of his hands to rub the sore spot where Norway had whacked him with the "pointy" end of his palm. However, he couldn't, for the smaller nation's one hand was firmly holding onto them.

|Fool.| Norway murmured. His other hand, still resting atop Denmark's head, fisted a handful of his hair and the smaller nation yanked the larger downwards, and- _oh._

The entire room stared. Stared as the smaller, Nordic nation kissed Denmark, -and quite passionately at that. He did not seem to have any qualms about taking his sweet time about it either, and Japan felt like he could die happy now –and he was undoubtedly _not_ the only one, if Denmark's wide open eyed were anything to judge by.

Then Norway let go, flopped back down in his seat, picked up his book again, and continued reading like nothing had happened.

(Though, for those who looked very closely, it would be possible to detect a small, satisfied blush creeping across his cheeks right beneath his eyes. And Iceland was looking just that closely, but also appeared to be the one the least surprised in the entire room.)


End file.
